The body speaks when the soul decides to remain silent. In these images, my inverted silhouette seems to defy logic, but in reality what I am doing is seeking a dialogue with the invisible: with the air, with the weight of gravity, and with that inner voice that reminds me that balance is not achieved overnight, but with each attempt, each fall, and each new climb.
I have always seen the handstand as more than just a physical exercise. Yes, you need strength in your arms, firmness in your shoulders, and a good base in your wrists. But what you need most is calm. A calm so deep that it manages to bring order to the chaos of thoughts. When I am standing on my hands, I think of nothing else. There is no noise, no problems, no rush. There is only the present, as if the whole world had turned upside down and I could observe it from another perspective.
The first image is the purest: a vertical, straight, firm handstand. My feet point to the sky while my hands cling to the ground like roots. That posture reminds me that in order to rise, you first have to be well connected to the earth. It's not about running away, but about finding strength in the most basic things: contact with the ground, with what sustains everything. That's when I understand that external stability always comes from internal stability.
The second image, on the other hand, speaks to me of freedom. That opening of the legs, that line extending out to the sides, is a gesture that breaks the rigidity and turns balance into flight. It is not only control, it is also letting go, expanding, and opening up to space. In that figure, I feel that the body draws invisible wings, as if suddenly it were possible to fly even though the ground is still there, claiming my weight.
The surroundings also play their part. The rough wall behind me, the vegetation peeking in from above, the bare ground: everything becomes the stage for a kind of silent dance. There is no audience, no applause, just me and that moment captured. And yet, even though there are no witnesses, I feel that I am leaving a mark. Because every time someone sees these photos, what they are really seeing is not just a pose, but a story of practice, patience, failed attempts, and perseverance.
Training handstands is training life itself: losing the fear of falling, learning to get up, understanding that progress is not always fast, but it always comes. Every second in balance teaches me that stability is not the absence of movement, but the art of moving without losing your center.
And in the end, what these images convey is not strength or skill, but a reminder: we all have the ability to turn the world upside down, even if only for a moment, if we dare to see life from another perspective.
This is another chapter from the chronicler, a small piece within the great adventure that I am tracing through images. Each photograph is a fragment of life, a frozen moment that captures not only poses and landscapes, but also emotions, lessons learned, and silences. The adventure continues, because as long as there are hands willing to hold the body, eyes open to see the world from another angle, and a heart willing to narrate it, there will always be new chronicles to write.